


Silver Medal

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Comedy, Drama, Explicit Language, Fluff, M/M, Post-War, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2018-10-27 19:04:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10814886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley both love Harry Potter. Unfortunately, Harry doesn't bend that way. Thus, they find themselves feeling utterly alone, but one afternoon, the Room of Requirement and a bottle of Romanian vodka may just remedy that situation...





	1. Prologue: Left in the Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** A sweet bit of Ron/Neville.

  
Author's notes:

Harry hears a strange noise from the common room, and decides to investigate...

(Thank you very much to wolfiekins for a prompt, thorough beta.)

* * *

Neville Longbottom sat at the edge of a large, fluffy, crimson chair within the currently empty Gryffindor commons. His hair was a shaggy, mahogany mess, his dark blue, cotton pajamas were heavily wrinkled, and his face was streaked with tears.

“Shit,” he choked angrily to himself through heavy sobs. “You’ve worked yourself into a right state again, haven’t you? And all over a boy who probably couldn’t care less.”

Neville had actually spent the last three nights alone like this in the commons. He found it frustrating that he couldn’t control his emotions like his friends could, but he couldn’t stop himself. He would get ready for bed, lie down, and get to thinking. His thoughts would wander to the bed across the room, and his imagination would kick in. 

But then, his mind would snap back to the cold reality of his situation: he had fallen madly in love with one of his only friends, and he would never be able to tell him. He had been able to deal with his feelings for a year or two, but now, only two weeks into his sixth year at Hogwarts, the stress of living in the same room as the object of his affection had come to a boil. He had to hold it in until he was sure everyone else was asleep, then sneak down to the common room, and let his feelings out. It was upsetting to him. 

The others were so… _Gryffindor_. 

What was he then? 

“I should have been a Hufflepuff.”

“Why’s that?”

The familiar voice nearly gave Neville a seizure, partly because he had been sure everyone else was asleep, and partly because of whom the voice belonged to. He turned around to see Harry Potter, the object of his grief, standing at the base of the steps. His hair was its usual wild nest of black, and his groggy, emerald eyes were focusing on Neville through dark-rimmed glasses with a worried quizzicality.

“Oh! I-I just…” Neville made a fast attempt to dry his tear-stained eyes and regain some look of composure, though it was a losing battle. He really didn’t want to be seen like this by Harry, even if it was too late now. “It’s n-nothing… Really, it’s noth-”

“Neville,” Harry interrupted, “if it were truly nothing, you wouldn’t be here in the common room at this ungodly hour, bawling your eyes out. Tell me, what’s wrong?” The boy took a seat across from Neville, and gave him a concerned, understanding smile.

Neville hated when Harry did this. Or, more so, he hated how whenever Harry gave him this look, he couldn’t help but do anything his friend asked or told him. He was helpless. He was always helpless. “I… I want to tell you. I really do, but I can’t,” he finally said, holding back the urge to spill everything he had been thinking about to Harry.

“We’re friends, Neville. I can’t make you tell me, obviously, and if it’s a promise to someone, I wouldn’t want you to break it, but I hope you know you _can_ tell me anything.”

“I… It’s a promise to myself.” Neville couldn’t make eye contact with Harry. He tried, but no matter what he did, his eyes fell to the side of him, or his focus went past him. Eventually, he settled for staring at his hands, which were currently engaged in picking at one another.

“Look, Nev-”

“Okay,” the boy broke in, “I…well…see, there’s someone I like, but I can’t tell the person, because they’ll hate me.”

“Neville, I’m sure she won’t hate you. In fact, who knows? She might even like you. You’re a great guy, Nev, you just won’t let yourself see it.”

“Well…“ Neville was moved almost to giddiness by the fact that Harry though he was a ‘great guy’. Still, he found he couldn’t lie to him. He cringed a little at what he had been about to admit. “Who… said it was a girl?”

A look of realization swept over Harry, and he shifted a little in his seat. “Oh… so you’re gay then?”

“Um, yeah. You…you’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

There was a short silence, during which, Neville could swear his heartbeat was probably quite audible to Harry. Soon though, Harry replied, “Of course not. How long have you...you know, known?”

Neville heaved a sigh of relief. He most definitely was not ready to come out to the rest of his peers yet, and he was relieved that his friend hadn’t planned to feed him to the wolves, so to speak. (Though, Harry’s nervous posture worried him a little.) “I kinda realized it during second year, though I wasn’t sure until third.”

“Ah.”

“Do you have a problem with it?” Neville asked. “If you want, I could…stop talking to you. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” He scoped Harry out, expecting to see powerful nods of approval at this suggestion, but to his surprise, he looked rather calm.

“No,” Harry smiled. “Just as long as you don’t fancy me, I’m fine.”

The words struck Neville like a bullet to the lung. He stopped breathing, and he was sure his heart may have even ceased beating for a moment or two. The room swam around him as his greatest fear had been confirmed. Harry indeed did not have feelings for him. Still unable to take in air, Neville forced a smile, and replied. “Oh. No worries, then.”

But Harry wouldn’t be fooled so easily. He must have picked up on Neville’s body language, because his playful grin slid from his face. “Nev, you’re lying to me, aren’t you?”

Neville’s eyes widened with fear. “Harry,” he whispered, anxiety forcing him back to the verge of tears. He could see the look on his friend’s face. “No, Harry, I ju-“

“Nev, you can tell me the truth. It might be a bit awkward to deal with at first, but believe me, I’m not going to stop being your friend just because you happen to have a little crush on me.”

A “little crush”. _That’s_ a laugh! 

But still, he gave Harry the closest thing to the truth he could bear. “I… yes. But you don’t have to worry! I can trade dorms with someone, and I can sit on the other side of Dean for meals, and I can ma-“

“Nev, you’re rambling,” Harry said, looking somewhat thoughtful. Finally, his gaze met Neville’s, who had been staring at him with worried eyes. “Look, Nev… I’m straight. Nothing’s going to change that. But I’m not homophobic, either. It’s just…give me a little time. I’m not going to stop talking to you, or make you keep a distance, or anything, but, say for tomorrow at least, just give me a little bit of space. I just need time to process everything.”

“O-okay,” Neville managed. But it didn’t feel okay. The nagging little voice in the back of his brain was doing its best to convince him that Harry probably hated him now, and it was slowly winning the rest of him over.

“Thanks,” Harry said with a small sigh of relief. He then let out a long, forceful yawn, and stood, stretching his torso and arms upward. “Well, I’m knackered. I’m headed back up to bed. Come on. It’s late, and I’m sure you need the sleep, too.”

Neville nodded absently, and stood, following Harry back up to the dorm. 

Once the door closed, he walked over to his bed, slid into it, not bothering to lift the sheets, or even close his curtain, and lie there, facing away from Harry. 

He simply stared out the window, and waited patiently for sleep to claim him.

 


	2. Chapter 1: Consolation

  
Author's notes: And now the real fun starts...  


* * *

The next day, Neville walked around in a haze. He hadn’t actually slept, as he’d tried. Instead, he’d simply lied in bed, repeating the same thought over and over in his head. 

__

He hates me… _He hates me… He hates me…_

__

Despite Harry having said he would remain his friend, he couldn’t help but take the request for a day’s distance as a sign of the worst. It was in Neville’s nature to worry, even if he was often too oblivious to notice when real trouble was present.

He hadn’t the will to speak. In the morning, he waited for his roommates to leave for breakfast, all the while pretending to sleep. Then, he sat up, and went through his morning ritual. He stripped out of his pajamas, pulled fresh clothing and a clean robe from his trunk, and slipped them on. He grabbed his books, his wand, and went through the door, travelling through the Gryffindor commons, out the portrait hole, and straight toward his first class: potions. He wouldn’t be attending breakfast that morning.

Neville walked through the door to the potions room, and Snape gave him his usual sneer. “A little early, aren’t we?”

Neville said nothing. He simply took his seat, and continued his blank stare into space.

When class finally started two hours later, he took notes automatically. His body moved of its own accord, and when his potion exploded as usual, he remained unmoved. The blast never registered in his brain. He continued on, cleaning himself, the desk, and his cauldron out. Even Snape seemed to notice his state, as normally, he would have taken ten points for the debacle. Instead, he simply removed Neville’s cauldron, and board of ingredients. For the remainder of the class, Neville sat down, and stared at his desk. 

__

He hates me… He hates me… 

__

A half-hour later, he walked out the door, and meandered off toward his next class. 

All day, he moved seeing nothing but the path ahead. In his mind, the halls were cold and empty, as were the dorms, and the classrooms. There were no students, and no professors. Just empty halls, and disembodied voices. Even in Herbology, his escape from the day, he could only find himself going through the motions. He entirely skipped lunch.

Finally, late in the day, he snapped. He could feel the sting of tears building in his eyes, his breath hitching, and the need to truly be alone creeping in on him. He hurried through the halls, searching, found one without students, and began hunting for an abandoned room. He came upon a large, dark-wooden door, and opened it to find a familiar clutter of old, useless things. Desks, chairs, stained and dented cauldrons, and other bits and pieces that had long since been forgotten… It was the Room of Requirement. 

The tears had already begun their descent down his cheeks by now, so he found a nice, well-hidden corner, buried himself within it, and let go.

He had been weeping for nearly ten minutes when he heard a clinking sound from somewhere in the room, like heavy glass contacting the stone floor. He listened closely, and soon heard a sniffle come from his left. He stood, suddenly very shameful of his emotional state, and looked in that direction to see who had been there to hear his weep. It took some scanning, but eventually, his eyes rested upon a well-known tuft of wavy, red-orange hair.

“Ron?” he called, embarrassed to hear that his voice was strained from crying for so long.

The ginger boy shot up, his pale, freckled cheeks in full blush, and his brilliant blue eyes wide with surprise and fear. “Nev! Oh… Uh… I didn’t realize that was you in here…” Neville noticed a rather large clear-glassed bottle in his hand, but he couldn’t read the label from his current distance.

“Um… Yeah. I guess you know why I’m here… What about you?”

“Oh… I just… needed to be alone.” Ron had calmed from his shock, and was now staring absently at the floor.

“I’ll… leave, if you-“

“No,” he cut in. “I think some company might actually be a good thing right now… Want some?” He held out his bottle, and Neville walked closer. On inspection, the label was in a foreign language.

“What is it?”

“It’s something my brother, Charlie, sent me from Romania. It’s vodka, but it’s made with a magical plant that only grows there. This stuff is wicked strong.”

Neville had to think about it for a bit, but after the events of last night, he decided _why the hell not_? He grabbed the clear bottle, and took a quick, deep swig. Immediately, he realized this was a horrible mistake, as the liquid seared his throat, sending him into a coughing fit, and his eyes watered until he could barely see.

The redhead in front of him chuckled a little, but patted him on the back. “I told you it’s strong. Here, sit by me. Misery loves company.” Ron sat back down in his cubby, and Neville followed, plopping with his knees drawn in the tight space. He figured he was probably a little too big to fit in here with another person (especially someone almost the same size), but at the moment, he didn’t care. He took another, much more deliberate swig of the drink, and handed it back to Ron, who followed suit.

After about thirty minutes of drinking in utter silence, both of the two staring at the floor, Neville was only just beginning to feel the effects of his drink. His extremities tingled, but otherwise, he felt pretty normal… except that the silence blared in his ear like a siren. Just as he began to think it would drive him utterly mad, Ron spoke up.

“Eh, Nev?” he said, Neville relishing the possible start of some kind of conversation.

“Hm?” he replied.

“You ever wonder why love has to be such a bugger?”

Neville had in fact been wondering that very thing all week.

“I mean, you’re supposed to fall in love with a nice girl, get married, have lots o’ babies… But it’s never that simple, is it?”

__

You’re telling me, thought the brown-eyed boy.

__

“I mean… What happens if you fall in love with the wrong person?” Neville’s eyes widened. Was Ron in a similar situation? “What if… Oh, bloody hell…”

“Believe me, Ron, I know how you feel…”

“Really?”

“Yeah… And I can bet I’d top whatever’s got you down…” Neville didn’t like making bets, even rhetorical ones, but in this case, he was pretty sure whatever Ron’s problem was, it couldn’t be as bad as falling in love with his closest male friend.

“I doubt that,” Ron mumbled.

“Try falling in love with a bloke.” Neville wasn’t sure whether it was him or the alcohol talking now, but at this point, he didn’t care… though he did divert his eyes to his hands, still feeling mildly awkward about having admitted this so easily.

And yet Ron looked… unshaken. If anything, he actually looked more at ease. “Well, if that’s it, I got ya beat, no problem. Not only did I fall for a bloke, but… I fell for my best friend.”

Realization dawned on Neville in an instant. Not only did they both have feelings for men, but they had even fallen for the same guy. “Y-You mean Harry?”

“…Yeah…”

“Same here.” Ron’s eyes widened just a little, but a sly smile followed it.

“Fuck… Well, look at the bright side… Least he isn’t snogging _your_ sister… Or worse…”

“Ouch.” Neville hadn’t thought about that. Ron definitely won the ‘my love-life is tragic’ contest…

“Damn green eyes.”

Neville laughed for the first time all day, and Ron smiled a little bigger, too. 

Many swigs later, they set the bottle down to hear the pitch of the glass much higher than it had been before. It wasn’t until right then that Neville noticed exactly how much vodka they really consumed. The bottle, which was about a quarter empty when they started, was now very nearly gone.

Apparently, Ron had been thinking the same thing, because he picked the bottle back up, shook it around a little, and then swallowed the last bit. He set the bottle off to the side, and gave Neville a mildly drunken look. He hadn’t quite noticed, but now that he thought about it, Ron drank a lot more of the bottle than he did, and guessed that he would soon be paying for it. But Neville was still definitely buzzed. He had a low tolerance for alcohol, and could tell that drunkenness was probably swooping in very soon for him as well.

Once more, the two sat in silence, but this time, with no alcohol to distract them. Neville then felt a cold chill in the room. He looked to see if there was an open window, but with the room the way it was at the moment, he found there were no windows. He shivered a little, and found Ron leaning into him. The ginger boy was warm, wonderfully so. It was soothing to Neville. He rested his head on Ron’s, and wrapped an arm around him, which was joined by his friend’s. It was… peaceful. For the first time in a week, Neville felt relaxed, like his world may not actually crash in on itself. Like happiness still stood a chance.

He also felt the vodka leaving its mark. His vision was slowly shifting into a watery, blurred version of itself, and he felt his mind going a little fuzzy. Still, he allowed himself to stay there; to enjoy the comfort that rested within a friend who knew what it was like to love someone you could never have, and who was there for him… and who was so impossibly warm!

Then he felt a tiny jerk and a squeak that indicated Ron had hiccupped, and Neville found himself giggling contentedly at it.

“Y’Know,” slurred Ron, “who needs Harry?!”

Neville went from giggling to outright laughing, mainly because of the sound of his friend’s voice, and his own drunken stupor. When he came down from his laugh, he found himself sighing. “Appar’ntly, we do.”

“Nah! Mean, he’s straight, so wha’ssupoina goin’ on like this?”

“So… What, you sayin’ we just forget ‘bout ‘him, ‘n’ move on?” Neville was now finding it just as difficult as Ron to properly form words.

“Pffft! That ain’t happ’nin’! Not when I see’m naked in th’locker room ev’ryweek.”

That thought suddenly had Neville very aroused, both mentally, and physically, and the sober part of him now buried in the back of his mind was very happy that his legs were still pulled up.

“Nah, I’s jus’ thinkin’…” He sat ,quiet for a brief moment. “I don’ remember…”Neville giggled again, but Ron lifted his head (forcing Neville to lift his, much to his dismay), and gave him a very intent look. His facial expression made it difficult to tell whether he was thinking very deeply, or just very, very horny. Neville suspected it was a bit of both. “Oh,” he finally broke in, “I… think I rememb’r now. I w’s just thinkin’ that… maybe…” He kept that intent gaze, and began moving closer, which Neville found interesting, considering they were already leaning on one-another, embraced against the chill of the stone room… Then he realized what Ron was doing. 

“Wait, I…” But it was too late. Ron’s lips closed around his. He almost fought it, but the feeling of contact, added in with the alcohol, was too great a rush. He pushed into the kiss, deepening it with his tongue. Ron’s mouth tasted strangely sweet. He couldn’t place why, but he wanted more. They broke away only when they found they needed air, Ron’s teeth nipping at his lower lip, and after a heavy inhale, their mouths joined once again. Neville managed to make his way on top of Ron’s lap, which was even warmer than the rest of him. He straddled his legs, and continued their fevered kisses.

After a few minutes of the passion-play, they had finally slowed back down and Neville found himself breaking apart from Ron’s mouth with what he assumed to be the most ridiculous expression of his life. He was utterly wowed by the whole experience, and it appeared Ron was in the same boat, as he stared back at the brown-eyed boy with contended amazement.

Neville leaned back in to the redhead, but rather than joining their mouths again, he rested his head on the boy’s shoulder, nuzzling his cheek into his neck. Ron was so… warm. He even smelled warm, and sweet, and heavy, like hot, liquid chocolate. Neville felt his body melt over the boy, every tense muscle releasing itself, and he wrapped his arms around Ron, and squeezed, happy when Ron returned the favor. There, they sat, wrapped within one another, until slowly, Neville felt himself drift off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 2

Neville awoke to the sound of a massive clank. Leaning against the wall, he scanned the room, and paid for it in spades as his head pounded a steady, violent beat. _Hangover. Wonderful._

He was alone. So why did he feel like someone had just been there? His clothes still held a lingering heat, as if he’d been in close proximity with someone for a long period of time. Then he noticed the empty bottle of Romanian vodka, and everything fell back into place.

“…Shit!” he whispered, the pitch of his word piercing his eardrums like an ice pick. He bolted upright, rather surprised to find his stomach _not_ attempting to murder him for this maneuver. “Ron?” he asked, voice still low… No answer. 

Ron had left him there. Neville cursed himself for his actions. _Why can’t I just control myself?_ Sure, he knew part of what happened could be blamed on the alcohol, but he wasn’t one to make excuses for himself, no matter how valid they may actually be. _I can’t believe this. I just scared away one of the few people that talk to me…_

He decided to try to catch up to Ron; to talk to him about what had happened, and to apologize for taking advantage of him. He stood quickly, weaving through the piles of antiquities, ignoring the blaring pain in his skull, and yanked open the huge, mahogany door. But upon entering the hallway just outside, he stopped his rush, as the pain in his head was now too great to overlook. He slid back against the door, coming to rest on the great, cold, stone floor. 

“Bloody, bloody, bloody hell!” This wasn’t working. He needed to get to the hospital wing for a migraine potion. Otherwise, he felt that his lucky lack of nausea would be very short-lived.

Neville got to his feet once more, this time being very careful not to do anything too suddenly, and headed off in the direction of the hospital wing. He supposed he should probably consider himself fortunate that the day was currently in the midst of sunset, or the excess light would likely have been enough to push him over the edge.

By the time he reached Madam Pomfrey though, that edge had well been reached. The students roaming the corridors seemed to be creating an unstoppable din meant specifically to put Neville through as much hell as humanly possible.

“Oh, Neville, what’s the matter, dear?” asked the kind, portly woman in a soft voice. She could see that Neville was squinting, sweating, and almost panting in pain. Immediately, she took out her wand, and waved the curtains on all of the windows in the room shut. Then she helped Neville to find a seat on the end of one of the many beds. “Oh, let me guess: migraine?”

Neville simply attempted a smile, a wince of pain slipping in with it. Nodding, or making any kind of noise would certainly prove excruciating. _I’ll never drink again_ , he thought. Then he winced once more. Even thinking hurt.

Madam Pomfrey walked off for a moment, returning with a vial of eccentrically hot-pink liquid. Neville briefly thought it ironic that headache medicine should be such a headache-inducing color.

“Drink this,” she lulled sweetly.

Neville gulped down the potion, ignoring the taste (an ability he had acquired from quite frequent visits to the infirmary). Slowly, but surely, he could feel the knots in his brain loosening, and after about a minute, he was entirely relieved of his condition. The boy heaved a deep sigh of gratitude.

“Now, you mind telling me what happened to give you a headache like that in the first place?” That was Madam Pomfrey; always concerned, and viciously so.

Unfortunately, that reminded Neville of his original goal, which was now most definitely a moot point. Ron would have reached Griffindor Tower long ago. There was likely no talking to him now.

“Oh... I just didn’t sleep well last night,” he lied. It nearly killed him to do so, as he had never lied to the woman before, but he couldn’t bear to tell her he had been drinking, and somewhat heavily at that. Still, though, there was some truth to the statement, as he indeed hadn’t slept last night, and this fact may have been part of the reason his hangover had been so painful.

Madam Pomfrey was about to press the issue, but before she could, someone came through the door.

“Madam Pomfrey, I’m sorry to ask again, but has… Neville! There you are! Where’ve you been?” It was Hermione. She rushed over to Neville, looking rather more frazzled than usual.

“Oh, I was just… studying. Why?” he queried, trying to sound innocent.

“Studying where? We’ve been worried about you!” The fluffy haired girl didn’t give him time to answer, and instead throttled him with a great hug. She then turned her attention to the patient Madam Pomfrey. “Is he okay to leave?”

The woman gave Neville a very… _knowing_ look. His ‘I was studying’ bit seemed to have fooled Hermione, but Pomfrey wasn’t falling for it. Still, she gave Hermione the go-ahead, and stepped away to attend to a Quidditch-wounded Ravenclaw that had been there before Neville arrived. Neville assumed Madam Pomfrey knew the girl’s worrying would be far worse than any stern talking she could give.

The two left Madam Pomfrey’s ward, and began down the corridor toward Griffindor Tower. Strangely, Hermione said nothing during their entire trip. Neville was finding it quite uncomfortable. He was already on edge about Ron, and now with Hermione behaving very unlike herself, he hadn’t a clue what to do. 

He’d been just about ready to break away and make a run for it when they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Hermione stopped him. Rather than utter the password, she pulled Neville off to the side, and gave him her best ‘you’re in trouble’ face. “Now, tell me what really happened. I know you lied back there. Your mouth twitches when you lie.”

Did it? Neville had never noticed, but he guessed it was probably true. Hermione was far more astute than he ever hoped to be. He just wanted to get through a day without forgetting something as simple as tying his shoe, or missing a button on his shirt. He decided it would be pointless to try to keep the truth from her. It was Hermione, after all. Chances were she would dig into whomever it took, and find out the truth anyway. “I… I was in the Room of Requirement,” he admitted.

“And what, pray tell, were you doing there?” The expression she gave told Neville that she may already know the answer to said question, and asking was more a way to chastise the poor boy..

“I was crying… and drinking…” He said the last part rather guiltily. 

“Honestly! You too? You and Ron have been acting very strange lately, and then today, you both run off, and get smashed. It certainly makes me wonder.” Her brow furrowed as she thought over the possibilities.

Neville was tempted to use her moment of pondering as an opportunity for making a run for it, but instead, he decided that Hermione was too good a friend, and deserved to know what was going on. He wouldn’t give Ron away, but he would at least tell her about himself. He had opened his mouth to begin, but stopped as several third years seeking entry to the dorms passed. There was no way Neville was about to spill his soul to Hermione in such a high-traffic area. “Um… Look, I’ll explain, but can we find somewhere more private first?”

Hermione seemed to understand, and led them off. After a quick minute’s walk, she stopped at the first empty passage available, and ducked into it, pulling Neville along beside her.

Neville took in a deep breath, preparing for what he was somewhat sure would come out a hideous ramble. “Okay, I-I’m gay, and I fancy Harry, _a_ _lot,_ but he’s straight, and I know he is, and… I was able to cope with it at first, but then I couldn’t, and I started spending half the night in the common room, crying like a little girl. Well, last night, Harry came down trying to figure out what was wrong, and I told him, and now he hates me; I just know it. So I couldn’t sleep last night, and today, I was looking for somewhere I could be alone, and I found the Room of Requirement, and I went in and cried for a while, and then I found… a b-bottle of vodka, and I got drunk and fell asleep. And when I woke up, I… my head hurt, so I went to the hospital wing, where you found me, and now we’re here…” He had very nearly given away Ron by slip of the tongue, but managed to catch himself before the leak occurred. Hopefully, Hermione wouldn’t notice the tempo change amongst all the angst-ridden blurting.

Hermione simply stared at him, wide eyed, mouth ajar. “Please, say something…” he said, fearing that she too would reject him. But she said nothing yet. Her jaw returned to its normal position, lips moving silently, and her brow was now scrunched in contemplation. “Wonderful,” he muttered, his own expression like that of someone who’s just entered that sickly giddy state at the start of a mental breakdown. “Now I’ve gone and mucked things up with you, too. I’m just going to go jump from the Astronomy Tower, now. I think it’s tall enough I might be able to write Gran a goodbye letter on the way down…”

Neville had turned around and begun walking in the Astronomy Tower’s general direction, but was halted by a sharp tug at his robes. He turned to see Hermione staring back at him with a look he recognized from due to its frequent use on Ron; he had come to call it her ‘what am I going to do with you?’ look, because of the words that always seemed to follow.

“Really, what am I going to do with you, Neville?” There they were, though the name tagged in at the end was different.

Neville stared back, the resigned-to-death happy smile somehow not effecting Hermione in the least. “You could let me go jump. That would be a good start.” His voice was slightly higher, and creepily amiable…

“Look, Nev, you didn’t muck things up with me, you just gave me a lot of shocking information. I don’t care what your orientation is, or who you fancy. If anything, I’m more worried that you’ve spent the last few nights in such a terrible state, and that you thought getting yourself smashed would help. And I’m also worried that you think Harry hates you.” Neville almost walked off again, but she stopped him once more. “Who do you think noticed you’d disappeared in the first place?”

Wait. Harry was worried? Then maybe-

“And before you start thinking it’s because he might have feelings for you too, I’m sorry, but I doubt it.” Neville’s heart sank back down. “It’s because he considers you a friend, and he doesn’t want to see you hurt. None of us do. As a matter of fact, the only one who didn’t go looking for you was Ron… He looked a little… scared, though…” _Uh-oh_. “Neville, I know he was drinking too, and he told me he was in the Room of Requirement. He didn’t say you had been there, but I think, with the timing, it all fits… Did something happen with you two? Did you get into a fight or something?”

Neville couldn’t look at her. He held his head downward, his eyes darting to different spots and stains on the stone floor.

“You did, didn’t you? You can tell me what happened, Neville. I’m your friend, you can-”

“Last time someone said that, I found myself losing sleep, and getting drunk, remember?” Hermione simply gave him an impatient sigh. He decided he might as well spill. She would get it out of Ron eventually. “Okay, when we were drunk, we kind of… kissed…”

Once more, Hermione’s eyes widened in disbelief. “B-but he… I thought we…” She leaned against the passage wall, and slid to sitting. Her mouth was forming incoherent words, and she looked as though tears may have begun their entry into her shocked, brown eyes.

_Shit!_ Neville exclaimed to himself. He had forgotten about the rumors going around that she and Ron might have feelings for each other. _Well_ , _apparently, it’s one-way._

“Gods, I’m so sorry, I…” He saw that those eyes of hers were definitely tear-stricken now, and she gave a downtrodden, lonely sniffle. His will was broken once again. He was sure he lost her this time. “Great. I’m off then. Make sure someone owls that letter to Gran.” He turned back in the direction of the Astronomy Tower. “I hope Sinistra won’t mi-”

But before he could take one full step forward, Hermione had grabbed his pant leg. He immediately lost his balance, and came crashing to the floor with a thud. “Ouch…”

“Oh! Bloody hell. Neville, are you alright?”

“I think so… But Merlin, that hurt!” He pushed away from the floor, and brushed himself off. “And why’d you stop me? It’s not like I’d really be missed. I’ve already pushed you, Ron, and Harry away…”

Hermione wiped a stray tear from her eye, and stood with an exasperated sigh. “Neville, you didn’t push us away… I already explained why with Harry. For me, I just… Well... I do fancy Ron, no matter how big a dolt he can be.” The last part was said more to herself. “I was just a little… sad to find out my feelings weren’t mutual. Though to be honest, I might have expected it, considering the way he looks at Harry.”

Neville chose not to comment on that. Instead, he asked, “you’re sure? You don’t… blame me?”

Hermione sniffled one last time, lifting her head with a loving smile. She reached out, gave Neville a reassuring hug, and upon pulling back, replied, “Of course not. After all, you were both drunk, and knowing Ron, I suspect the snog in question started on his end.”

“Well… Started, anyway. I kind of straddled him. I was still on top of him when I fell asleep. I’m surprised he didn’t wake me up when he left.”

Hermione’s cheeks went slightly pink. “That, I didn’t need to know… Anyway, we should be going back to the tower, now. It’s getting late, and Filch will be about soon.”

She began walking back in the direction they had come from, but this time, Neville grabbed her robes, halting her. “What about Ron? He’ll still be up, and from the way he ran, it’s quite obvious he regrets lastnight. I don’t think I can face him yet.”

She turned to him quickly, grabbed his wrist, and tugged him along. “Neville, this is something you’ll have to talk to him about. It’s obvious that it’s distressing him in one way or another, and this is between you two. I wish I could help, but the most I can do now is make sure you aren’t given detention for being out past curfew.” Neville heaved a breath, and followed.

Upon reaching the portrait hole, Hermione blurted, “glumbumble,” to which the Fat Lady swung open.

Within were Harry, Seamus, Dean, Ginny, and Ron, talking quietly in the common room. Neville and Hermione stepped through the opening, and the group looked to see who entered. All seemed relieved to know that Neville was okay. Ron even looked up for a moment, smiling. But the moment Neville returned eye contact, he ducked his head, averting his gaze to the floor.

“Neville! There you are!” said Harry.

“What happened?” Ginny probed. “We were all worried sick! You haven’t spoken a word all day, you skipped your meals, and then you disappeared!”

“I-”

“Yeah, Nev,” interrupted Dean, “What happened?”

“Oh… I… Well…”

“He means to say he had a bad night, and just wanted some time alone.” Hermione had noticed Neville’s squirming, and remembered he didn’t want his drunken actions getting around.

“Um, yeah. That’s it. But I’m feeling a little better now.” He gave a big, fake grin, his eyes still focused on Ron, who was still staring at anything but Neville.

Seamus grabbed Neville by the shoulder, and turned to the rest of the crowd. “Okay, Nev’s all safe and sound. Now can we go to bed? Tomorrow’s a Hogsmeade day, and I have a date.” The group giggled to this fondly.

Ginny sighed exaggeratedly, then joked, “trust Seamus to be more worried about getting shagged than the well-being of a friend.” 

He playfully slapped her arm, to which she just-as-playfully slapped him in the back of the head. A small hitting war commenced which was only stopped when Harry intervened, separating the two with a wide grin.

“Ginny, be nice, and Seamus, stop hitting my girlfriend.”

“Fiiine,” droned Ginny, and she pecked a kiss on Harry’s cheek.

Ron simply “ugh”-ed.

“I agree with Ron,” said Seamus. “I’m not gonna sit around here and watch you two snog. Goodnight,” he proclaimed, still smiling, running up the stairs toward their dorm.

Dean, sighed, shaking his head, and tailed the Irishman out, and Ginny followed suit, giving good-nights as she left.

This left Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Ron. Harry was next to go, and Ron was prepared to use that as an excuse to leave, too. Thus, Hermione gave Nevile a powerful nudge in the shoulder.

“Go. “

Neville took a deep breath, and walked forward. “R-Ron?”

Ron stopped, along with Harry, but when Harry turned and Ron didn’t, he spoke up again.

“Um… I-It’s okay, Harry. You go ahead and go to bed. We’ll be there in a bit.” Harry was about to protest, but Hermione shot him a very stern expression, and nodded him up the steps, walking off in the direction of the girl’s dorms herself.

“Okay then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

When the other two were gone, Ron slowly faced Neville, his light blue eyes aimed cautiously toward the other boy, and his brow furrowed slightly.

Neville didn’t see this though. He was a bundle of nerves. His hands were picking at his clothing, his eyes were focused more on Ron’s torso than anything else, and his knees were starting to shake violently. “I… I-I’m so sorry Ron!” he finally forced out. “What happened; it was my fault! I was drunk, and I let my body do whatever it wanted, and I took advantage of you, and I’m sorry!”

Ron looked at him in a state of awe. Neville wasn’t sure what the look on his face meant, but he figured it was quite probable that Ron was going to un-drop his jaw soon and punch him or something… It just seemed like a _Ron_ thing to do.

Ron slowly composed himself, but instead of running over to pummel Neville, he spoke. “Neville, you didn’t take advantage of me. I was afraid you’d figure it was the other way around...”

“But… when I woke up, you were-”

“I left because I thought when you woke up, you’d hate me.”

Neville couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That nagging voice in the back of his head tried to grab him back, but this time Neville wasn’t having it. He even managed to pull together enough courage to ask Ron something he had been too afraid to ask immediately after their kiss. “Well… Did you… you know… like it?” 

Ron relaxed, and smiled at the awkwardly handsome Gryffindor. Neville wasn’t sure how to read this sign, so he continued: “because if you didn’t, I would understand. I mean, I’m not that experienced. I’ve only ever kissed a girl once, and I’ve never kissed a guy before. Well, okay, once now, and while that was bloody amazing for me, I’m sure I can’t have been that good for you, so it would make sense… if… you…” Neville’s speech drifted off.

Somewhere during this rant, Ron had come within a few feet of Neville without his noticing. By the time he _did_ notice, Ron was standing face-to-face, mere inches from Neville. “Shut up, Nev.”

Ron closed the gap, meeting Neville’s lips with his own. It started short, and chaste, but quickly became more. Whenever lips separated, they would rejoin immediately, and within moments, tongue joined the fray. The two mouths explored one another again, and Neville felt himself melt into the redhead. He was taken once more by the impossible warmth, and the smell of thick, hot, bitter chocolate. His hands snaked behind Ron to the small of his back, and to the nape of his neck. A part of him was surprised that his hands should decide upon such dominant positions. The rest of him was in ecstasy. 

The two continued like this for nearly a half an hour. They were absorbed in one another. Eventually, they migrated to one of the great, deep red couches, and found themselves lying against each other, breathing slowly, and contentedly.

“So… ” said Neville quietly, hoping not to disturb their euphoria, “what happens now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… Do we make this a one-time thing, or do we keep going? I mean… I still want Harry, but I know that’s not going to happen, and I really like this… More than just the snogging, but _this_. You know what I mean?”

“I think so,” replied a very sleepy Ron. He let out a loud, drawn-out yawn, and continued on. “I like it too. I’d like to try to keep going… If that’s okay with you…”

“Yes… I think… I don’t really know, though… Would we be… you know… official?”

“Well, would you want to be?”

“Would you?”

Ron thought for a moment, during which the night silence was beautifully soothing. Neville almost nodded off by the time his human cushion spoke again. “I think so… I’m not sure I’m ready to be out just yet, but yeah… I could get used to nights like this…”

“Mmmmm… I agree… But… You know Hermione knows, right?”

“What doesn’t she know?” They both barely chuckled. Too much laughing would disrupt their peace, so they kept it brief, weak, and effortless, though they meant every bit of it. “I don’t mind if she knows… And Harry can probably know… And Luna. I don’t see her spouting off…”

“True… Can we not tell Ginny?”

“There’s no way in hell we’re telling her. She’ll threaten to tell Mum the moment she finds out unless I pay her, or something.” They huffed a laugh again, and it was followed by more silence. Neville put an arm around Ron, who nuzzled his head into Neville’s neck.

“…Ron?”

“…Yeah?”

“…Shouldn’t we be heading up to bed?” He leaned further into Ron, resting his head against the other.

“…Probably.”

“…Are we going to?”

“…Bugger that.”

The remainder of the night was silent, save for Ron’s light, peaceful snores, and Neville’s steady, quiet breathing…

 


End file.
